This flower is fair and fresh of hue,
It fadeth never but ever is new;
The blissful branch whereon it grew
Was Mary mild that bare Jesu.
A flower of Grace
Against all sorrow it is solace.

When that flower began to spread
And its blossom began to breed,
Rich and poor of every lede
They marvelled how this flower might spread;
And kinges three
That blessèd flower come to see.

Angels there came out of their town
To look upon this Freshhele Flower,
How fair He was in His colour
And how sweet in His savour;
And to behold
How such a flower might spring in gold.

Of lily, of rose of rise,
Of primerol, of fleur de lyse,
Of all the flowers at my devise
That Flower of Jesse yet beareth the prize
As most of hele
To slake our sorrows every dele.

I pray ye flowers of this country
Where e'er ye go where e'er ye be,
Hold up the Flower of good Jesse
Before your freshness and your beauty
As Fairest of all
That ever was and ever shall.